White Crosses

Immense amount of Crosses at the Omaha Beach American Cemetery

Cross and Omaha Beach in the background

Crosses at Omaha Beach American Cemetery

Blank and white

American artillery landscaping

Matt, Matt, and I playing in the bunkers at Ponte Du Hoc

Craters at Ponte Du Hoc

What happens when artillery hits an arms bay

Me inside a crater at Ponte Du Hoc

Cross at Normandy

I sat there, knees at my chest with my arms wrapped around them, and suddenly became aware of how loud it was just breathing. So I opened my mouth and took slow deep breaths. My heartbeat was even too loud; I could hear it pounding in my chest--beating in my ear--drowning out the world around me. Through the leaves on the bushes I could make out for an instant the chaos that surrounded me. Figures darting past, this way and that--screaming, screeching, diving, leaping. And then silence, gradual, wonderful silence. And out of the silence a common phrase: “where’s Andy?” Then, just as the storm had been quieted and my heartbeat slowed, adrenaline thrust my legs into overdrive. I was up and running, free through the night, breaking out teammates and gone into the darkness. That was the idea right? Not to get tagged?

Memories of manhunt. That is what crossed my mind as I watched Professor Forni’s sons, Jesse, 4, and Jack, 5, running and climbing up and down the craters at Ponte Du Hoc--and I was right there with them. Ponte Du Hoc was just plain cool. And for the hour and a half we spent there, I--like my 4 and 5 year old cohorts--ran up and down the shell holes created by American Artillery in 1944. I stood there excited playing “soldiers” with the kids and I was awestruck by the reality of the situation.

What is Ponte Du Hoc you might ask?

Ponte Du Hoc was a strategic focal point on D-Day. It had long range artillery that could reach about 12 miles and rain down heavy fire on American forces at both Omaha and Utah Beaches. Because of the rocky cliffs that it stood atop, the Germans deemed the point impregnable from the sea and focused all of their defenses on land. They didn't anticipate Army Rangers.

One of the first actions of D-Day involved 225 highly skilled Rangers who scaled the rock walls in eight minutes and took the gun locations, providing safe harbor for the landing forces. What was equally as impressive was that they not only took Ponte Duc Hoc, but that they held it. With little supplies and no back up, they cut off one of the main roads which served as a major artery for German supply lines.

The heroics of these brave Rangers was not without loss. Of the original 225, only 90 Rangers lived, and were relived on D-Day +4. In fact, when American forces eventually battled through to the Rangers, they actually called in an artillery strike on Ponte DuHoc, because the Rangers had begun using German weapons. The Americans, hearing the German gunfire, bombed the ridge. Thus in one day, American artillery had redefined the entire terrain on the edge of the cliff, and created the craters in which the Forni boys were now playing. Today a monument stands on the edge of the cliff to commemorate the bravery of those Rangers. Based on their accomplishments, it hardly does them justice.

“I’ve played videogames that look like this,” Nick Quigley, one of the seven guys on the trip, commented. And it was true. When I stood looking at the cliff front, I was in a virtual reality running up and down giant divots in the earth. Standing inside the gun turrets or looking through a gun hole in one of the bunkers, it was just like one of our video games at home. It wasn't a reality, it was a cool and exciting game that I was playing in my head. I always had another life and if I got shot, it only took a couple of points off my health. Surrounded by the same barbwire, cement bunkers, and gun turrets, I stood there in awe and intrigue. I was hooked--infatuated by the events that had taken place there and that I was just now experiencing.

By day two of our trip to Normandy, the reality was not so sugar coated. On day two--the most moving day of all our time in France--we took a trip to the American Cemeteries at Omaha beach and paid tribute to the brave men that died there on June 6, 1944. The rows and rows of white crosses were a much more sobering commentary on the affects of war.

There were just so many. Line after line, row after row, some crosses, some Stars of Davids. That's what gets to you, the magnitude of the events that had transpired. I sat there trying to comprehend the sacrifices these men made. When I was 17, all I had to worry about was making the soccer team, and these young men, practically boys, stormed a beach head under enemy fire, with adrenaline fed by fear for their own lives.

They gave their lives defending freedom--a concept they believed in--but a horrifying reality they could hardly imagine. At one point I walked down to the beach and stood there staring up at the cliffs they had climbed. Later when I would run, back up the beach with my backpack and water bottle, it occurred to me that I was not the first American to rush up this beach head. Americans ran this same beach and cliff with 80 pound packs and guns around their neck, worried about grenades or enemy fire. Guys my age and younger making a sacrifice that I can’t even fathom being asked to make, to liberate Europe and defend their country. They said for a week after D-Day the waves ran red with the blood of the men of Normandy. In reality it ran red with the blood of teenage heroes torn apart by the some of the cruelest creations of man.

Last year in my English Lit class, we read a poem, entitled Dulce et Decorum Est, written by Wilfred Owen. In it, Owen describes the horrors of WWI. The title, translated from Latin means: “How sweet and fitting it is to die for ones country.” These words were often used as propaganda during recruitment efforts by the English military. However, Owen, who fought in the trenches during WWI,  used graphic depictions of the war to stress the reality of what it means to die for ones country. In a somber, almost sarcastic tone, Owen relays the message: if you could see what dying for ones country entails, then you wouldn't be so quick to make it sound so sweet.

As the sun warmed my back and the wind from the waves brought the smell of salt to my nostrils, I looked up the cliffs from the beach head, trying to imagine the reality of the battle that had taken place there and the stories the sea would tell if it could talk. And with pride in my country and the men who had fought for it, I reached down and took a stone from the water. As the waves splashed against my hand, thick old English letters flashed through my head: "Dulce Et Decorum Est?"